Charlotte's Greatest Asset
by Flagg1991
Summary: AU of the episode Mommy's Little Asset. After Jonathan botches babysitting Tommy and Angelica and costs the company an important deal, Charlotte fires him. She doesn't need him around anyway. She can do what he does and BETTER. Or can she? Oneshot. [Commission]


Charlotte Pickles pinched the bridge of her nose and drew a deep, even breath. Across the table, the owners of Famous Ethal's Cookies - a wrinkly, white-haited duo so old they served their first batch of cookies for dessert at the Last Supper - conferred in hushed tones that weren't hushed enough. I don't think she'll do it right, Ethel said to her husband Abe. She darted her eyes suspiciously to Charlotte, and Charlotte flashed her biggest, fakest smile. Don't mind me, it said, just thinking about all the TLC I'm going to give your stupid little company.

They were sitting in one of the conference rooms on the sixth floor of MergeCorp's corporate office, a small, intimate space with venitian blinds, potted plants, and a gleaming oak table with a glass topper to protect the wood from scuffs, fingerprints, and coffee rings. There were water streaks here and there, and Charlotte made a mental note to call the cleaning company MergeCorp contracted to and ream the owner a new ass hole. If the entire building wasn't spotless when she came in tomorrow, she might even demand the cleaner be fired.

It was mid-afternoon and hot summer sunshine pressed against the windows overlooking the parking lot. Shafts of light fell through the blinds and made golden bars across the table. Because this office was on the west side of the building and received direct sunlight for the majority of the day, the air was hot and stuffy despite the cold air flowing from the overhead vents. A pinprick of smoldering pain over Charlotte's left eye threatened to turn into a tension headache and hunger pangs rippled through her empty stomach. She normally took an hour or two for lunch in the early afternoon, going to one of the fashionable cafes nearby, but she had been stuck here for most of the day trying to convince Abe and Ethel Aaronwitz to sell their company.

It was taking far longer than she anticipated.

Charlotte was a businesswoman and over the course of her rise to CEO of MergeCorp, she had developed her powers of persuasion to a finely honed edge. She could sell coal to Newcastle, as they say, and she was extremely proud of it. When she started in the corporate world as a typist, women were still being chased around desks and considered little better than office furniture. They said she would never make it, they said she'd be stuck banging on a typewriter and taking dictation for a man her entire life. Well, she proved them wrong, every one of her successes another link in the chain of her victory. Someone in her position has to be ruthless, hard-nosed, and able to play ball. Her underlings, who feared and revered her as something between Christ and Mussolini, said that she was the best ball player in the business, and they weren't wrong.

Her inability to swiftly and decisively bring the Aaronwtizes to a deal, then, annoyed her to no end, and the longer they talked among themselves, the greater her frustration grew. In a boardroom meeting, as in poker, you cannot let your emotions betray you. You must remain calm, cool, and inscrutable. Normally, Charlotte was all of those things in spades, but today had been a nightmare from the beginning. Her brother-in-law Stu and his wife DeeDee were on vacation, leaving her and her husband Drew in charge of their baby, Tommy. Tommy was a good boy and Charlotte loved him to pieces, but today - of all days - she couldn't find a sitter for him and her daughter Angelica. Drew's father, Lou, was on a fishing trip with his some of his old war buddies, Chuck Finster was busy sorting his stamp collection or some damn thing, and their friends Betty and Howard were wearing pink hats and protesting Donald Trump in Washington. Drew couldn't take the kids because he was going skydiving with the CEO of Cybersystems International.

Thus...it fell to her. She packed Tommy and Angelica into the car and fought her way through morning traffic, then had to stop and soothe Tommy when Angellica bumped into a car in the parking garage and set off the alarm. Tommy and Angelica were both good kids...angels, even...but an office building is no place for children, and even angelic children get bored, restless, cranky, and curious about the world around them. In the elevator, Angellica pushed every button, making the car stop at each floor, and the moment Charlotte set Tommy down, he started power-crawling toward an uncovered outlet, saliva coated finger leading the way.

Luckily, she finally found the perfect babysitter in Jonathan, her personal assistant. He didn't seem as enthusiastic about spending time with Tommy and, especially, Angellica as he should have been, but eh, it's not like he was doing anything else. His days consisted of taking orders, getting coffee, preparing reports, doing market research, and other minor things that Charlotte herself could do in her sleep. Sometimes, she wondered why she even kept him on the payroll. He was good at what he did, mind you, but there was a recession on and MergeCorp was feeling the pinch. She'd already made so many slashes to the budget the CFO jokingly called her Freddy Krueger, and during the past quarter, she had laid off nearly a dozen people. Like an eagle-eyed scout, she was on the lookout for unnecessary expenses to jettison, and some days, she wondered if Jonathan wasn't one of those.

He wasn't much of an asset when you got right down to it. He did decent work but it really wasn't worth the salary she paid him. She could get an intern from the college and get pretty much the same for less, or even free.

Hmmm. She'd have to think on that more later, right now she needed to worry about the Methuselah twins. Despite what Abe and Ethel might think, she genuinely loved their cookies and her attempts to acquisition the company was well-intentioned. She honestly believed in them and their recipe and wanted to bring it to the masses. God, the first time she had Famous Ethel's Famous Macadamia Nut, her mind was blown. It reminded her of the girl scout cookies she used to sell every year when she was a kid, only better. She knew, knew, that with larger manufacturing capabilities and better distribution, Famous Ethel's would come to dominate the market in two years, maybe three. If they played their cards right, got the right advertising, and sold big in the right markets, they would all make a lot of money.

She was willing to cut Abe and Ethel in on future profits by five percent. That wasn't unheard of, but it wasn't exactly common practice, either. You bought a company, sent the former owners on their way with a static sum, and that was that. Charlotte, however, really wanted this deal, and if she had to pay a quarterly percentage so be it. Famous Ethel's was worth it, and if things worked out as well as Charlotte knew they would, she could likely retire by the time she was forty-five.

At first, she thought a five percent residual package would be enough to seal the deal, but Abe and Ethel didn't jump at it the way she wanted them to. Maybe she should bump it up to ten. She ran some quick calculations in her head, then frowned tightly. There would be plenty left over, but an extra five percent is still five percent. She didn't get where she was today by tossing money around like Johnny frickin' Appleseed.

It would all be worth it in the end, however.

And as the old maxim goes: You have to spend money to make money.

The chair creaked as Charlotte sat back. Abe and Ethel talked lowly, Ethel worried that MergeCorp would ruin the company she worked so hard to build, and Abe pointing out that they had five kids and eight grandkids. Taking this money would be best for them. Charlotte's gaze drifted to the window and she stifled a miserable sigh. The air swaddled her like a wool, suffocating her, and the twinge in her forehead was steadily getting worse. She pressed her fingertips to her temple and rubbed a deep, slow circle. Her stomach rumbled and she shifted her weight in the vague hopes of silencing it. She had a few Chocolate Cheese bars in her desk, left over from Angelica's last visit to MergeCorp, and even though they were the most putrid things she had ever tasted, she'd cram one down her throat just as soon as she could.

Ugh.

Maybe she'd take the kids to McDonald's instead. She could go for a salad shaker. Or even a hamburger. She normally watched what she ate, but while it was utter junk, she did like the Big Mac. It was so messy, though.

She glanced at her watch. Ten minutes had passed since she offered Abe and Ethel the chance to "talk it over." That was the standard, and nine more minutes than most small business owners needed. Famous Ethel's was their baby, however, and Charlotte could respect that. They had been growing it for years and the idea of parting with it was an intimidating one. Ethel's main concern was that MergeCorp would change the recipe and put out a bland product with her name on it. They did it to Col. Sanders, she stated, they could do it to me too.

Yes, Col. Sanders. In one of the market research reports she had Jonathan write, Charlotte read all about Harlan Sanders and his disdain of KFC changing his recipes. He was an ambassador for the company and made good money from it, but never passed up an opportunity to put it down. One time he called the gravy "wall-paper paste." Something told Charlotte that Ethel would do the same thing if the quality of "her" cookies slipped.

They would not.

If that was Charlotte's plan, why would she be going through all this crap in the first place? It's not like the name Famous Ethel's was valuable or well-known. She wasn't after a matronly old woman's likeness here, she wanted the damn recipe. That's where success lie, not in a name that no one outside of the region had ever heard before.

She rubbed her temple again and let out an exhalation through her nose. Was it hotter in here? It felt like it. She considered taking off her blazer but rejected it. You don't change horses in the middle of a race and you don't take your jacket off in the middle of a deal. If you walk into the room with it on, you keep it on. Alternately, if you walk in without it on, you keep it off, no matter what. The vents could spit air so cold it gives you a brain freeze, doesn't matter, don't put it on.

Abe took his wife's hand, brushed his thumb over her knuckles, and said something that Charlotte couldn't make out. She put her hands in her lap and absently drummed her fingers on her thigh. It wouldn't do to pressure them...too much...but she was hot, hungry, and headachy, and if they didn't make up their minds soon, she'd fly across the desk and make them sell.

Not really, but jeez, she wanted this meeting over with.

In fact, she might just go home afterwards. There were no other pressing matters to handle, and what little there was, Jonathan could take care of.

Yes, once she was done here, she was out. She needed food, a hot shower, and an ice pack. If Chuck was around, she'd leave Tommy and Angelica with him and take a nap too.

Ethel giggled like a schoolgirl at something Abe said, and she patted the back of his hand. It was a small gesture, but one full of love and affection. As agitating as they were, they were sort of cute. Charlotte wasn't given to sentimentality, but she was touched anyway. There's nothing quite as romantic as someone loving you even when you're old and gray. Whirlwind affairs and living for the moment appealed to other women, but Charlotte was pragmatic. She'd rather a steady companion, someone to be there for her in the twilight of her life, than a Harlequin hunk with abs and flowing blonde hair.

Someone like Drew.

Touched or not, she was this close to jamming a fountain into her throat.

Without warning, the door burst open and Jonathan barged in, a stricken expression on his face and his chest violently heaving as though he had just run a marathon. Charlotte, wrapped up in thoughts of jumping from the window and ending her suffering, jumped in surprise, and Abe and Ethel both glanced up with a marked lack of concern, as though Jonathan had come in the proper way and not like the Kool-Aid man on drugs.

A tall, wispy man with perfectly coiffed blonde hair, delicate cheekbones, sensuous lips, and clad in a tailored three piece suit the color of burnt coffee, Jonathan was normally placid and self-possessed, but right now he was visibly flustered: His clear skin glowed a put-upon shade of red, and anxiety raged in his soft brown eyes like storm-driven seas. He looked around the room, spotted her, and hurried over at a power walk. "We have a situation," he said in that light, breathy voice of his.

"What sit -?"

That's when it hit her.

Jonathan was alone.

Charlotte's heart sank. "Where are the kids?"

He took a deep breath. "That's the situation."

For a moment, Charlotte was locked in place, then she shoved him out of the way and lunged to her feet. Abe and Ethel watched her with quizzical (and judgemental?) scrutiny. "I will be right back," she said and held up her index fingers, "I just need to take care of one thing."

Without waiting for a reply, she spun on her heels and bumped into Jonathan . She shoved him toward the door, and he wheeled around so fast he nearly fell over. She bumped into him again, then slapped the backs of his shoulders. "Go, go, go," she hissed through her teeth. He staggered into the hall, arms crazily pinwheeling, and she swept him aside like a tank smashing into a Vespa. "Where are my children, you stupid bastard?"

"I turned my back for one second," he said.

"Jesus Christ, Jonathan ," she moaned. Her hands went strickenly to her head and her heart palpitated in fear. There were a thousand places, a million, in MergeCorp where Tommy and Angelica could hurt themselves. Visions of spikes, stairways, teetering bookcases crammed with ten year old technical manuals, and kitchen cabinets filled with chemicals danced mockingly through her head, and cold, steely fingers of panic closed around her lungs. She started to hyperventilate, but wrestled control of herself from the jaws of hysteria. "Where did you last see them?"

"Your office."

Brushing past him, Charlotte hurried down the hall. Her ponytail snapped back and forth like a whip and sweat trickled down the back of her neck. She was not aware of the latter and wouldn't have cared if she had been; Tommy and Angelica were lost and nothing else mattered but finding them before they could hurt themselves.

Jonathan ran to keep up with her, his long, springy legs wobbling and his back bent deeply back; he looked like that retarded boy from Ed, Edd, and Eddy when he ran. "I checked the copy room, the kitchen, the bathrooms, and the file room."

"What about Conference Room A, the breakroom, and the storage closet?" Charlotte asked as they rounded a corner.

"I didn't get to those," he said, "I -"

A sharp scream rose from ahead, and Charlotte instinctively broke into a run. Oh, God; oh, God; oh, God. She stepped wrong, and her right heel snapped off. She kicked out of it and the other and dashed down the hall on stockinged feet, Jonathan mincing after. She swung into the kitchen, skidded on the cold tile floor, and hit a table hip-first, pain detonating in her side like a bomb. A secretary stood over the garbage can between the counter and the fridge with a scandalized hand pressed to her breast. "There's a baby in the trash," she said dazedly.

Tommy.

Jonahan slid into the room like Kramer into Jerry's apartment, and his wing-tipped loafer came squarely down on Charlotte's foot. She let out a high yelp and lashed reflexively out, hitting him in the arm. "Get off my foot," she hissed.

He fell back, and Charlotte hobbled over to the can, sucking pained breaths with every step. Inside, Tommy sat serenely atop a pile of waste and greedily sucked his bottle. He looked up at her and flashed a big, cheesy grin. (Oh, hi, Aunt Charlotte, I didn't see you there). Charlotte let out a relieved breath. "Where is - ?"

"Hi, Mommy," Angelica piped.

She was sitting Indian style in the space between the wall and the trash can, a Chocolate Cheese Bar clutched in one fist and wrappers strewn across her lap like bones fallen from the maw of a cannibal giant.

Charlotte sagged. Thank God they were okay.

But…

"Why is Tommy in the trash?" she asked.

Angelica shrugged. "His diaper stinky so I throwed him away."

Now that she mentioned it, Charlotte did smell something rancid. She picked her nephew up under his arms, turned him around, and sniffed his back.

She gagged.

"Come on," she said and held her hand out, "we have to go change Tommy."

She shot a dirty look at Jonathan. "And I need to speak to Jonathan . Alone."

Shifting Tommy to one arm, she took her daughter's hand and lead her out of the room. She did not see the little girl twist her head around and fix Jonathan with wicked, narrowed eyes, did not hear her soft laugh or her taunting singsong voice. "You're in trouble."

Jonathan took a deep breath and let it out evenly. He had been Charlotte Pickles' office bitch for nearly six years, plenty long enough to know what would come next. He and Charlotte had the most peculiar love-hate relationship. She could be the sweetest thing sometimes...and sometimes she could be a real hussy.

He was not in the mood for this, and only hoped he could zip his lip long enough to take his lumps.

After changing Tommy and passing him and Angelica off to Debroah in HR with a firm command to "Watch them with your life you're out like yesterday's paper," Charlotte smoothed the front of her skirt and returned to the conference room. On the way, she stopped at her office and poked her head in. Jonathan sat in a straight back chair with his head tilted slightly back and his lips pursed, waiting for the thrashing he was going to get when she was finished. "I'll deal with you later," she said bitterly.

Jonathan hummed dismissively. "Um-hm."

Oooh, he was lucky.

Grumbling under her breath, she stalked down the hall and stopped at the conference room door to collect herself before entering. Alright, girl, go in there and seal this goddamn deal. She took a deep breath and swept her hands up and down as if wafting the smell of success into her nostrils.

As composed as she could be only minutes after almost losing her daughter and nephew to some horrible accident, she opened the door and went inside.

"I'm sorry for the interruption," she said, "my -"

She stopped.

The room was empty.

She blinked like a cartoon character, but the Arronwitzes did not reappear.

Uh...where are they?

This was the right conference room, wasn't it? She scanned it, and like a smoking gun, a box of Famous Ethel's Mint Chocolate Chip cookies sat on the desk. Two chairs, side-by-side, were pulled out and facing one another, unmoved as though the old couple had been raptured, leaving the wicked behind to suffer a cookie-less thousand year reich.

Son of a bitch.

Blowing a frustrated puff of air, she turned and slammed back into the hall, shoulders squared, fists balled, and eyes glinting like twin knife blades. All of her bad emotions, from the irritation at the Arronwitzes stubbornness to her momentary alarm over Tommy and Angelica's disappearance exploded in her chest like a keg of dynamite, and the sudden compulsion to slam her fist into the wall came over her like a tidal wave.

Across from the elevators, the secretary sat behind a bulky computer and hesitantly pecked at the keys like she'd never freaking typed in her life. Charlotte slapped her hands on the desk with a meaty thwack, and the woman started. "Where are the Aaronwitzes?" Charlotte demanded.

The secretary caught her breath. "They left," she said. "They said they were sick of waiting."

Charlotte uttered a harsh laugh. Sick of waiting? SICK OF WAITING? Her nails bit deeply into the padding of her palms and her lips peeled back from her teeth in a wolfish sneer that made the secretary tremble like a cave-dweller before the awesome might of a god.

Charlotte's blood boiled, literally boiled, in her veins, and her skull swelled with pressure like a boiler with hot steam. Her vision blurred and she didn't realize she was pounding down the hall until she reached her office and found the object of her wrath sitting where she had left him, legs crossed daintily at the knee.

As soon as she hit the threshold, she was off. "You had one job, Jonathan . I gave you one simple bird course of a task and you screwed it up. Do you realize what could have happened? Tommy and Angelica could have been killed because of your incompetence." Her face was hot, her chest busting; the room spun like a merry-go-round and rage threatened to spill from her in a red, lavaic flood. Jonathan stared straight ahead with a wan expression on his face. He prodded the inside of his bottom lip and looked like he wanted to snap back.

Charlotte wished he would.

"Then to top it all off, the Arronwitzes left and I don't know if they'll be back. You stupid idiot, you just ruined the biggest deal of the decade. You just destroyed the future of this company and you destroyed my future."

That was hardly an exaggeration. WIthout the revenue stream from Famous Ethel's, MergeCorp would take a huge hit in the next fiscal year. Not enough to even come close to sinking it, but things would be even tighter than they were now, and Charlotte didn't like tight. She liked room to breathe. Every company needs room to breathe. When you don't have room to breathe, you don't have room for error, and when you don't have room for error, even the smallest bungle could lead to catastrophe.

Jonathan turned to her, his own face red. He was starting to get angry himself. "You're being a drama queen," he said.

"Excuse me?"

He got to his feet. "That deal won't make or break us, honey, and don't pretend that it will. Those cookies are middling at best."

Charlotte's face burned brighter. "They're not middling. You know what's middling? You. You're middling, Jonathan . I pay you 45,000 dollars a year and for what? You can't even watch a toddler and a baby for five minutes!"

"I'm not a daycare service, Charlotte," he said tightly, "I'm a PA and -"

"You're an FU, Jonathan ," Charlotte replied. "You know what that stands for? Fuck up. You're a fuck up and you're the best in the business. They should give you an award and put you on TV."

Jonathan sneered. "Well, this wouldn't have happened if someone didn't close the company daycare."

"You told me it was an unnecessary expense!" Charlotte threw up her arms.

"Compared to the other things you wanted to cut," Jonathan amended. "We needed new computers, we've been using the same ones since 2009. Office supplies, you can't run an office without office supplies, Charlotte. Not that I'd expect you to know that."

His condescending tone sent flaming daggers into her the center of her head. "Excuse me?" she asked again.

"I do everything around here," he said, "you sweep through the door with a cup of Starbucks in one hand and your little cellphone in the other and act all high and mighty while I do it all. Those reports on your desk? Where do you think they come from? Do you have any idea how long it takes me to put those together? You go home and kick around the house, meanwhile I go home and keep working. I was supposed to be working on the Grady account today, but thanks to someone not having child care, I'm half a day behind."

Grady International was Charlotte's next acquisition after Famous Ethel's. A world-wide network of loan and savings institutions founded in 1839 (a fact alluded to in their slogan "We've always been here"), it had fallen on hard times and closed many of its foregin holdings. It was still greatly profitable in the US and if MergeCorp didn't obtain it, that, coupled with losing Famous Ethel's, would…

Jesus, she didn't even want to think about it. If things were tight now, they would even worse then.

That, of course, had little to do with Jonathan . All he did was gather paperwork and type things up, how hard could it be? "You make it sound like you're the one keeping MergeCorp afloat," Charlotte said, "you're not."

"I'm one of this company's greatest assets," he said loftily.

That made Charlotte laugh. "You're a liability, that's what you are. You run errands and get coffee. I could pay a college kid pennies and get the same results."

Jonathan put his hands on his hips and rolled his neck like a sassy black woman in a UPN sitcom. "I'd like to see you do it."

That was a direct challenge, and as the captain of MergeCorp, there was only one way she could meet it. "Fine. I will. You're fired."

Jonathan 's eyes narrowed. "Alright. Good luck tanking."

With that, he stormed out the door.

"Good luck in the employment line!" she called after him. She slammed the door so hard it shook in its frame. One of her degrees fell from the wall, and she winced at the tinkle of breaking glass. "You're paying for that!" she screamed.

She spun around, went to her desk, and dropped into her chair, then instantly jumped back to her feet and started to pace. Stupid asshole, who did he think he was? I'm this company's greatest asset. Ha! He was a glorified paper pusher who didn't even push papers. She could do this without him. She could do this without anyone. She was Charlotte Pickles. She clawed her way to the top on her own, and goddamn it, she would stay there on her own.

Mark her words.

Now, what did she have to do on the Grady account? She sat, rolled her neck, and reached for her phone. She'd just call J -

No one. She'd call no one.

She hovered her hand over the mouse, realized she had no idea what to do or where to start, and slumped back in her chair with a sigh. She was hot, her head hurt, and the quiet growling in her stomach had turned into a voracious rumble. Her chest burned with anger like a bed of coals and her mind kept going back to her confrontation with Jonathan . How dare he take that snide tone with her? How dare he reach above his station and act like he was something he wasn't? He had a lot of nerve. She should have sacked his ass years ago, before he got uppity.

Stupid moron. Freaking idiot. This was all his fault, everything.

She heaved another sigh and caught a glimpse of her watery reflection in the darkened computer screen. She could worry about Jonathan , his failures and betrayal, later. Right now she needed to get started on the Grady account. She was meeting with the board of directors in three days, and if she didn't wow them with her presentation, she could kiss the acquisition goodbye.

Where to begin, though? Jonathan handled that sort of thing.

Getting to her feet, she went over to Jonathan 's desk, a tiny cubby wedged into the corner like a dirty little secret. He must have a to-do list around here somewhere. It was neat and tidy with nary a paper out of place. She checked the drawers and found it in the center, a sheet of paper covered in ranks of flowery writing. There were twenty items.

Only two were crossed off.

Wow, that many?

She rolled her eyes. Mr. I-Work-So-Hard-But-I-Only-Did-Two-Things.

Guess it all falls to me.

In that case, she figured she better get started.

Taking the list to her desk, she sat down, scanned it, and frowned. There was a lot here.

Oh well.

If Jonathan the screw up could do it, she could do it better.

And she would.

Guaranteed.

* * *

_Can I go to bed?_

Charlotte Pickles propped her elbows on the edge of her desk and buried her face in her hands. Her head pounded like the sickly beat of a dying heart and her eyes ached in time. The room swayed from side to side and keeping from toppling over took every ounce of energy she had left.

It was almost midnight and Charlotte sat alone before the computer in her home office, the only light the blue electric glow emanating from the screen. Earlier, after eating a quick dinner, she changed into a pair of lounge pants and an oversized T-shirt for maximum comfort.

Only she wasn't comfortable and hadn't been for hours. Her back was sore, her butt itched from being sat on for so long, and every time she broke her grainy eyes from the screen, her mind drifted back to earlier at the office. From there, she would lose her train of thought and dwell. After too much dwelling, a feeling to which she wasn't accustomed stirred in her chest like a cold November wind.

Guilt.

She was so mad after what happened that she could hardly remember what she said, but she knew herself well enough to know that it was harsh. Could you blame her, though? Tommy was in a freaking trash can! A thousand horrors could have befallen him and Angelica. Thank God they were okay, but what if they weren't? What if she found one of them hurt? What if she found one of them dead? No matter how hard she tried, she kept returning to the images of Tommy curled up on the kitchen floor, skull broken and seeping gore and Angelica with an extension cord improbably wound around her neck. Her face was purplish, bloated, and her eyes…

Charlotte's stomach knotted and she pushed it away.

None of those things actually occurred, thank God, but those visions rattled in her skull like ball-bearings in a tin can as she walked away from HR. When she got to the conference room and Abe and Ethel were gone, those balls turned into M80 firecrackers. She was so angry she was pretty sure she literally saw red.

Maybe it wasn't fair of her to go off the way she did. Maybe she could have handled things better. Maybe she should have eaten something and calmed down before talking to Jonathan.

Yes…

And maybe he shouldn't have loused everything up. Because of him, MergeCorp probably lost Famous Ethel's, and the Grady account...Jesus, the Grady account…

She blew a puff of air that rustled her bangs and thrust her fingers into her hair. A woebegone expression settled over her features and she pressed her lips together in a tight, bloodless slash. She had so much to do and so little time to do it in. She had been researching, noting, reading, typing, and cross checking for hours and she still had days worth of work ahead of her. The financial records alone were enough to melt her brain. They stretched all the way back to 1839 and it was her job to add them all up and find the yearly profit and loss margins. Do you have any idea how tedious and time consuming it is to scour almost two hundred years of records? And then there was the liability sheet, the assets sheet, the insurance paperwork, the workman's comp files, and employee files dating back to when Elijah Hickenbothom was a name that actually existed.

What else? She looked at Jonathan's to-do list and groaned. Once all this was done, she had to research the target demographic for Grady's services and compare them against MergeCorp's distribution network. She had to research the markets in which every Grady location was centered, check MergeCorp's finances, and decide which, if any, needed to be closed and which, if any, should be expanded. There were also federal forms out the ying-yang, foregin transfer papers, Jesus, did she have to find out what their founder's favorite food was too?

This was standard procedure for every potential client and acquisition, but Charlotte hadn't done it in so long that she'd forgotten just how much work went into it; she simply found a stack of papers on her desk, the distillation of the most important details, read it, and moved onto the next thing.

Oh, God, then there was the presentation itself. Jonathan had a sixth sense for those. It was almost like he could see into the minds of the seller and discern exactly what they wanted and what to say to bring them into the fold. In the beginning, Charlotte closely monitored him as he prepared his presentations, but eventually, she stepped back because he -

She sighed.

He...well…

Nothing. He nothing. He was a middling employee at best and a do-nothing at worst. Really, she didn't know why she even kept him around. So what if she had to sit behind her computer for nine hours just to make a dent in her workload? So what if she also had to worry about everything else going on at the same time? She should have saved herself money and drama and gotten rid of him a long time ago.

Only that was bullshit, and deep down, below the icy layers of her stubborn pride, she knew it.

But the way he talked to her…

How exactly did he talk? Oh, he got upset because you called him a fuck-up? Cut it any way you like, that was uncalled for.

Well...maybe it was, but he was fired and that was that. So she had to do a little extra work. Oh well. She was Charlotte Pickles, she could do anything she set her mind to.

In three days?

She glanced at the clock on the computer. 12:17am.

Two days?

Of course. If Jonathan could do it, so could she. Jonathan was a little better than she gave him credit for, but he wasn't God, and she didn't always have him around. There was a time - and not that long ago - where she worked almost nonstop. What do you think she did with all the free time she had before Angelica was born? She sure as hell didn't spend it chatting with DeeDee over coffee. She put in long, grueling hours, barely slept, and stayed sequestered in her office so long she forgot what her own home looked like. Sometimes, she'd come home to a strange man sitting on the couch and watching golf and do a double take. Who the fuck is that?

Oh, right, my husband. LOL. I haven't seen him in so long it slipped my mind. For a second there I thought I was married to the other Pickles. What's his name again? Stewed Pickles? All these long days and short cat naps are frying my brain, but at least my 401(k) is on point. Wahoo.

She slumped back in her chair and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms. She was starting to remember why she hired Jonathan in the first place.

Whatever. She could do this.

Sitting up straight, she got back to work, finally wrapping up shutting down the computer an hour later. She made it up to the fiscal year 1989, and if she pushed herself hard, she should be done by late tomorrow morning. Then she could focus on the insurance paperwork. For variety, she could sprinkle in a little market research and maybe, just maybe, some of those goddamn government forms.

She made her way through the dark office and out into the hall. A night light plugged into the wall across from Angelica's door cast a circle of muddled illumination like a spark in the void. She poked her head in and squinted to see in the gloom. Angelica was in bed, curled, beneath the blankets, and Tommy lay on her stomach in his Pack n Play, his butt thrust into the air. Charlotte stared at him for a moment and warm fuzziness flooded her chest. She and Drew had been talking about having another baby for over a year and sometimes Charlotte really wanted to...other times, she thought back to Angelica's puking, pooping, and all-night cry-a-thons and grimaced. Yeah, no, let's not do that again.

As often as she said the latter, she still entertained the idea. With work the way it was, though, she couldn't afford to take a leave of absence. Once the Grady account was settled, maybe.

She also needed to get Ethel and Abe back to the negotiating table. She called them three times this afternoon and they didn't answer, but she would keep trying. With Grady and Famous Ethel's, MergeCorp would be set and stable for a long time to come.

Leaving Angelica's door open so that the glow of the nightlight spilled into the room in case she woke up and needed to use the bathroom, Charlotte crept into her own room on her tippy toes so she didn't wake Drew. In the master bath, she undressed and showered, the warm water relaxing her stiff muscles.

Done, she toweled off, got dressed again, and snapped the light out, momentarily blinding herself. When her eyes adjusted, she carefully made her way to the bed, hands sweeping the darkness around her as if to ward off unseen monsters, then slipped beneath the covers. Drew lay flat on his back with one arm jutting over the edge of the bed and his jaw slack in a perfect O. Light snores rose from his chest, and Charlotte nudged his leg with her foot. He muttered, rolled, and fell silent.

The red numerals on the face of the bedside clock proclaimed 1:22, and she sighed. She had to be up and out the door no later than six-thirty if she wanted to get a head start on that paperwork. That left her with five hours of sleep.

She flashed back to something Jonathan said that afternoon. Those reports on your desk? Where do you think they come from? Do you have any idea how long it takes me to put those together? You go home and kick around the house, meanwhile I go home and keep working.

Yeah, well, too bad. I'm doing it now and do you hear me complaining? Oh boo hoo my job, not my joooob.

She drew her knees to her chest, thrust one arm under the pillow, and closed her eyes.

I do everything around here.

Her eyelids sprang open. Jonathan 's voice was as clear and vivid as if he had spoken from the shadows, and for an incoherent second, she could almost believe he really was standing in the shadows, completely insane and out for revenge, a knife in one hand and a random severed head in the other. I do everything around here, Charlotte, she imagined him saying. A mad Chesire smile spread across his face, teeth gleaming impossibly white...and sharp. You'll see…

She rolled onto her other side and faced Drew, who in turn faced the wall. She closed her eyes again and took a deep, calming breath. I'm one of this company's greatest assets.

No, Jonathan, you're a liability. Is that what she said? She furrowed her brow in thought but couldn't recall. She thought she did.

Was that true?

In the heat of the moment, she thought (and said) that he didn't do anything. While it was true that he didn't have the stress and responsibility of her position, it wasn't entirely fair to say he did nothing.

A memory struck her like a sniper's bullet. Last year, during the HOL/Chime-Warner merger, she took sick with the flu. She couldn't very well take a leave of absence, so she dragged her dying carcass into the office and went on as though she weren't infected with Captain Trips. The whole day, Jonathan worried over her like a plump mother hen, taking her temperature, bringing her medicine, soup, ice packs, and water, and all but commanding her to stretch out on the chaise. You need rest and fluids, Charlotte, he said, you really should have stayed home today.

...can't...she croaked. She was dizzy, fevered, and swayed drunkenly back and forth in her chair. The presentation's today.

I can handle that, he said.

Screw you, no you can't.

She got weakly to her feet, then promptly collapsed. Jonathan caught her before she could hit the floor and lead her to the sofa. He helped her on, covered her with a blanket, and put a cold compress on her forehead. I will do this, he declared, you stay here and rest.

No, she said, you'll botch it.

That wasn't a personal insult.

She didn't trust anyone but herself to do it.

No I won't, he said.

As much as she wanted to do this on her own, she couldn't, so she let Jonathan go in her stead.

And you know what?

He did it.

In the here and now, Charlotte's chest tightened with guilt. She and Jonathan were like an old married couple - they had their ups and downs, and alternated between being lovey-dovey and hating one another. They often went out for cocktails after work and chatted and gossiped like old friends. Just as often, they went days without passing a single friendly word. He was a man, but Jesus, sometimes she swore he PMS'd. One day he'd be fine, then the next he'd have a hair across his ass and act like a total bitch. Every once in a while when she reprimanded him, he got snippy with her. Lke, hello, you work for me, jackass, not the other way around.

For all of his faults, he knew what he was doing...despite Charlotte saying otherwise...and he was...well...he was a good man.

Even so, she fired him and she had just cause. Now can we please stop thinking about this and go to sleep?

She closed her eyes and tried to drop off, but as much as she sought the blessed release of slumber, it eluded her, pulling always just out of reach like a wind-swept desert mirage. She tossed, turned, sighed in frustration, and flopped onto her back with a deep breath.

Finally, shortly before three, she fell into a thin and fitful slumber.

The night passed quickly, and long before she was ready, the alarm jarred her awake. She slapped the OFF button and sat up. A crack of line shone under the bathroom door and the muffled hiss of water filled the darkness. Her head ached, her eyes ached, and her mind was muddled. Five more minutes?

Instead of lying down and falling back asleep, she got up, shuffled to the closet, and selected her outfit for the day: A gray skirt that reached her knees, a white blouse, and a black necktie. She dressed hurriedly, slipped on her blazer, and went into the bathroom to brush her hair and put it up in a ponytail. "That you?" Drew called over the water.

"Yeah, it's me," she said. Who else would it be? Jonathan wearing her face as a way of taking over her life? You took my job, now I'll take your family.

"You wanna join me?" he asked in an attempted sexy purr.

"Can't, sorry, no time."

He sighed. "Fine. I guess I'll just finish myself."

"It shouldn't take long," she quipped.

"Ha, ha, you're very funny."

"I know," she replied, "it's one of my best assets."

Before leaving, she fed Tommy and Angelica breakfast. Tommy, strapped into his high chair, looked around the room as if plotting his escape, and Angelica, in a booster seat, kicked her legs and sang a song about Santa Claus farting and slipping on ice. Charlotte filled a mug with coffee, saw that she didn't have much time, and gulped it down, skipping sugar and cream; it was hot, bitter, and made her wince, but right now she needed all the pep she could get, for she had a looooong day ahead of her.

Drew came in wearing a sweater vest, and she kissed him on the cheek. "We have child care today, right?" she asked.

"We do," Drew confirmed, "Pop got back from his fishing trip last night."

Charlotte winced. Lou? Mr. Fall-Asleep-Everywhere-And-Leaves-The-Kids-Unwatched? Any other day she would have argued, but this wasn't any other day; she had to get to the office, continue working on the Grady account, organize her own schedule (Jesus, she totally forgot, did she have anything else to do today?), and God only knew what else.

"Alright, good, love you."

She gave Angelica and Tommy both a kiss, then rushed out the door. On the twenty minute drive downtown, Jonathan 's words richocheted through her head and the strangest sense of foreboding filled her stomach, cold and slushy like melting black ice. At MergeCorp, she pulled into a slot facing the well-manicured garden flanking the building's west side, got out, and threw her purse over her shoulder. Inside, heels clicking on the tile floor, she waited for the elevator, got on, and took it to her floor. When she got to her office, she paused.

It was dark.

And locked.

Huh?

It was always open, lit, and -

Oh, right.

Jonathan.

She fished her keys out of her pocket and cycled through them. She did this three times before she realized she didn't know which one opened the door. She hadn't used it in so long, and at some point, she had the locks changed. Jonathan put the key on her ring while she was working on the computer and told her which it was, but she waved him off and completely forgot.

Great.

Baring her teeth in frustration, she tried every single key on her ring, but none of them fit the lock. She did it again to make sure she didn't miss it and nope, no dice. Damn it, she needed to get in there! She didn't have much time! SHE DIDN'T HAVE MUCH TIME!

Claustrophobic panic gripped her and she started to hyperventilate. What next?

The secretary. She might know.

She set off in search of the secretary and found her drinking coffee in the dayroom. "I need help," Charlotte said without preamble.

Five minutes later, they stood in front of Charlotte's door. The secretary pulled out a key, inserted it into the lock, and forced the door. "It still sticks," she explained.

Still? You mean it's been doing this?

Charlotte had no idea. Jonathan opened the office in the morning and closed it in the evening after she left.

Oh well. Learn something new every day.

Inside, she snapped the light on, shrugged out of her blazer, and hung it from the rack next to the door. She went to the desk and dropped into her chair with a weary sigh. Alright, what's on today's agenda?

She looked at the desk.

There was no agenda. Every single day, it was right there waiting for her, sitting neatly on her keyboard where she couldn't miss it. Today...nothing.

Because of course there wasn't.

She had to do it herself.

Booting up the computer, she navigated her way through the system in search of her digital daily planner.

Where was it?

She looked in five different places, her frustration growing until she shook like a tea kettle on a hot stove. She finally found it, opened it, and scanned it.

Her heart dropped.

She had a 10:30 meeting with the board of directors. She completely forgot.

Luckily, Jonathan put together all the financial paperwork and she located it easily enough, then printed it. She waited for someone to bring it to her, and when they didn't, she sighed, got up, and went to get it herself.

The copy room floor was covered in papers. The entire report, all 200 pages, spat out of the printer and landed on the floor. What, no one collected it and neatly organized it?

UGH.

Getting on her hands and knees, she picked them all up, then sat on her butt and put them in order. People came and went while she worked, and each one of them looked at her funny from the corner of their eye, as though they couldn't for the life of them figure out why the CEO was sitting in the middle of the copy room floor and weren't brave enough to ask. Her cheeks blushed with embarrassment but she ignored them. She was so pressed for time she was going to start emitting juice, and any moment she didn't spend in motion, doing, was a waste. Time was of the essence here. She had so much to do, she could feel it weighing down on her like a thousand pounds of snow, now ten thousand, hurry, hurry, God, twenty thousand. The center can't hold. We're all gonna die. Ahhhh.

Done, she jumped to her feet and hurried back into the office. She tried to sneak in a little of the Grady account, but she had three emails in her inbox that she had to answer right now. Normally, that was Jonathan 's purview, but now it fell to her.

She dashed off a reply and tried to get back to work, but the computer pinged with a response. Really, this soon? She sighed, made another reply, then closed out of her email. She was just starting to lose herself in the financials when her phone went off. It was time for her meeting.

Damn it, why was time going so quickly?

She gathered her paperwork and went to the designated conference room. The meeting was a standard quarterly review of company finances. Th board voiced its concern that MergeCorp was still "saddled with unnecessary expenses."

"There's nothing else we can feasibly cut," Charlotte explained. "In fact, I believe we may have been premature in cutting the company daycare program." She thought back to the hassle of yesterday, and made up her mind, there was no may about it. "We were premature."

The board was willing to listen to her off-hand proposal to bring the daycare program back, but much to her chagrin, they set another meeting for tomorrow at noon to discuss it instead of, oh, you know, DOING IT RIGHT NOW. That meant another distraction from the Grady account. Ugh! Somebody please shoot me, because this is not working out the way I planned, or any way that will lead to anything but freaking ruin.

Back in her office, she worked straight through lunch and finally got up to the current fiscal year just after 2pm. She started on the government forms and was still making her way through them at 6. Looking at the mountain of work in front of her, she knew there was no way she'd be able to get home soon.

Damn it.

She called Drew and told him. "You're probably going to have to feed and bathe the kids."

"That's okay," he said.

"I'll be out of here when I can."

"Okay. I love you."

She smiled. "I love you too."

Hanging up, she got back to work. She did not have a clock on the wall, but she could hear time tickng away regardless. As shadows grew long, then cooled to purple twilight, she turned the desktop lamp on and blinked her bleary eyes. The walls were beginning to close in on her and air became stagnant, choking, so thick cartoon fan artists wanted to draw dirty pictures of it. She felt like she was being crushed between the arms of a vise. She felt…

...trapped.

Around eight, she started outlining the presentation, and eventually switched over to doing what she could on it. She got close to a quarter done before she logged out and went home just after ten. The streets surrounding MergeCorp were deserted, the shops facing them all shuttered and closed. Closer to home, the houses on the tree-lined streets were darkened save for blue TV glow here and there. Her own house was buttoned up and shadow-shrouded save for the porch light, which Drew had left on for her.

She parked next to Drew's Bentley and went inside. She found a plate of take-out pizza in the fridge, and after eating a few slices, she took a shower and went to bed. She hadn't thought of Jonathan in hours, but as she struggled to sleep, his face filled her mind's eye, and her guilt came roaring back. The farther from yesterday afternoon she got, the more she realized she overreacted.

Perhaps she should call him and offer him his job back.

No! She couldn't. She fired him. She couldn't just go crawling back.

Could she?

That thought followed her down into the echoy corridors of sleep, and though she thought and dreamed all night, she never found the answer.

* * *

The day of Charlotte Pickles' meeting with the Grady International board of chairmen dawned cloudy and cool. It started to rain just before sunrise and beads of rain sluiced down the window pane. A stray shaft of light fell over Charlotte's face, and she furrowed her brow. Her eyelids slowly fluttered open and she pressed her hand to her aching head. Her neck was stiff and her back hurt, and when she tried to move, a sharp pang went through her arm. She sat up rubbed her eyes, only vaguely aware that she was on the chaise in her office and not at home.

Last night, in a madcap dash to get everything done before the meeting, she pulled an all-nighter. At 4am exactly, she finished the presentation and clicked SAVE. It wasn't easy...in fact, it was the hardest thing she'd ever done in her life...but she did it.

Suck on that, Jonathan .

The previous afternoon, in a fit of self-doubt, she broke down and did something she would never have done under any other circumstances.

She went to Jonathan 's apartment.

Jonathan lived in a stylish building on a nice street in a good part of town. Charlotte knocked on the door and he answered almost at once, wearing slacks and a white polo shirt. His blond hair was combed neatly back from his forehead and a gold watch glinted around his wrist. His brows shot up and he pursed his lips. _Well...if it isn't little miss I'm-the-best._

She sighed. _I need you to come back,_ she said.

_Oh? That college kid not working out for you?_

_Please? I don't know if I can do this alone._

_You said you could._

I was full of shit and bravado, she thought but did not say.

_Just come in and help me for today and tomorrow,_ she said,_ I'll pay you your normal and then some. I just -_

_No_, he said.

What? No?

_Jonathan …_

He crossed his arms with a defiant flourish. _You said some very hurtful things to me,_ he said. _And claimed you could do this on your own._

She started to speak, but he cut her off.

_So do it, bitch._

He shut the door in her face.

Oooh, she was so mad she almost broke through like Jack Nickolson and killed him, but instead she put her anger into her work. It proved to be just the fuel she needed.

Thank God she went, if she wasn't so pissed off she may not have had the get up and go to finish.

It was presently 7:00am by her watch, which gave her two hours to freshen up before the meeting. There were no shower facilities at MergeCorp, but she had a membership at the YMCA down the street, so she'd go there.

Her stomach rumbled.

And stop at McDonald's on the way.

First, she needed to print the presentation and go over it one final time to make sure it sparkled.

She got up, went to her desk on bare feet, and sat down. She turned the computer on, waited for it to boot up, then accessed the file. She was just about to hit PRINT when the unthinkable happened.

The screen froze.

Then went blue.

Charlotte's heart dropped and a gasp burst from her throat. Oh no!

A strange, asthmatic whirr rose from the CPU and lines of white text rapidly flashed across the screen. Charlotte gaped stupidly, then shook her head. Ahhhhhhh! What do I do? What do I do?

The screen went dark and the CPU fell silent.

This was not good.

She bent over, jabbed her finger repeatedly into the power button, and grated when the screen didn't light back up. She hit again and again, chanting oaths and curses and prayers to God, and finally, it began to boot. Shaky and panting, she waited for the load screen in a state of high suspense. She tapped her foot against the floor, drummed her fingers on the edge of the desk, and only realized she was holding her breath when her chest began to throb. The whole time, she expected some terrible calamity to strike, but the computer logged onto the system no problem.

Whew. I dodged a bullet there.

Navigating into her files, she went to find the presentation...but it wasn't there.

Nothing was.

She blinked but they didn't come back. The drive was empty.

Charlotte's blood turned to ice water. The drive was empty...because it had been wiped. Everything was gone. The presentation, the forms and files and documents she used to cobble it together, the research, countless hours of work down the drain.

The Grady account down the drain.

No…

No, this couldn't be happening. It couldn't. She checked everywhere she could possibly think, her panic rising as every avenue led to a dead end. This was really happening. Everything was fucked. FUCKED.

A scream of fury and mortification ripped from her throat, and she slammed her closed fist onto the keyboard. Plastic snapped, pain shot up her arm, and everything on the desk shook. She did it again and again, her lament coming out now as a series of grunts. Fucked, fucked, fucked, they were all fucked! She had two hours before the presentation and NOTHING TO SHOW. They wouldn't get Grady, they wouldn't get Famous Ethel, she and Drew would lose the house and their cars and everything they owned, and they'd have to move into a trailer and be poor white trash just like her parents were.

Just like she used to be.

"MOTHERFUCKER!"

The world went dim and some outside force seemed to take control of her. She snatched the computer screen and shook it like the Tattletale Strangler choking a yellow snitch. She shook it violently back and forth, her lips peeling back from her teeth in a mad sneer. "Work, goddamn you!"

As if in defiance, the screen went blue again, and crying out, she threw it back; it skidded off the desk and landed on the floor with a crash. She got up, panting like a wild animal, and threw a punch at the air. What was she going to do?

It hit her.

Maybe it was saved in the system.

Filled with renewed hope, she went into the darkened lobby and sat at the secretary's desk. She turned the computer on, waited, and prayed to God.

Nope.

It wasn't there,

It wasn't anywhere.

The rage stewing in her chest turned cold, and stinging tears welled in her eyes. She failed. She failed and now she was ruined.

Hanging her head, she gave into her misery and wept.

Ruined.

Done.

What would happen to MergeCorp? What would happen to her?

She didn't know, and that made her cry even harder.

After a while, her tears tapered off and, spent, she sat there with her head down and her nose clogged. She sniffed, wiped her eyes, and got up.

What now?

She had to go to the meeting, no two ways about it. She'd just wing it. Yeah. She could do that, couldn't she?

Of course she could. She was Charlotte Pickles. She could do anything.

...except for this. She needed that presentation. She needed those files and reports. Without them, she was walking in there blind.

She held her face in her hands and let out a watery sigh. Walking in there. Hah. Like a lamb to slaughter.

She had to do it, though.

Getting to her feet, she dragged herself to her car and drove the eight blocks to the YMCA on Birch Street. Maybe things would look better after a shower. The building sat on the corner, flanked on one side by a wooded hill and the other by Coates Avenue. She parked at the curb, grabbed her gym bag, and paused to look at herself in the mirror. Runny mascara? Red, sleepless eyes? Sallow skin? Looking good, Mrs. Pickles.

Hah. She looked like something fresh from the pet sematary.

The lobby was deserted at this hour, manned only by a woman at the front desk and a sweaty man gulping water from the water fountain. She could feel his eyes crawling over her butt as she made her way to the locker room. Normally she would be offended. Today, she was too tired and defeated to give a shit.

In the locker room, she sat her bag on a bench, stripped naked, and went into the shower area. The tiles were cold under her feet and goosebumps raked her body. She stood beneath one of the showerheads and turned the water on. She turned in a slow circle, but it did little to assuage her tense nerves.

Done, she dried off, got dressed, and drove to the McDonald's up the street. She ordered an Egg McMuffin meal from the drive-thru and ate in the parking lot. Every instinct in her body urged her to rush and get back to the office, but what was the point? There was no way she could put on a good enough presentation. She might as well just go home and pretend she died. Another glance in the mirror confirmed that she looked the part. All she had to do was hold her breath and not blink.

She finished her sandwich, balled up the wrapper, and tossed it carelessly over her shoulder. Back to the office.

Her stomach knotted.

Fifteen minutes later, she cut the engine and looked up at the uber modern glass and steel construct housing MergeCorp. She had always liked the fashionable design, but in her dark state, it put her in mind of a prison.

It was nearly 9am. The meeting was in half an hour.

Sigh.

Time to go tank. Maybe if I'm good enough, I can take the whole company with me. And Grady International too.

Bankruptcy...all around. Don't be shy, I'm buying.

She took a deep, steeling breath, got out, and went inside. She waited for the elevator, got on, and pressed the button. On the ride to her floor, she wracked her brain for something to do. She could always tell the truth and ask for an extension.

Yeah, how about no? That would make MergeCorp look about as professional as a hobo stuffed into cardboard box down by the river. Either way, she was fucked.

At her floor, she got off and shuffled to her office, head down. People passed in the hall, some greeting her. She ignored them all. In her office, she sat behind her desk, threw her head back, and let out a deep breath. Well...you had a good run, Charlotte. You -

Her eyes fell on something.

A stack of papers sat atop her batterned keyboard. She knitted her brows, picked them up, and flipped through them, her heart leaping.

Her presentation!

B-But how?

She caught a flash of movement in her periphery. Jonathan , clad in black slacks and a blazer over a turtleneck, stood in the doorway. Charlotte looked from the presentation to him and back again, her mouth moving but no words forming. "H-How?" she finally managed.

"My PC is connected to yours," he said. "Everything you enter into the system is automatically saved to my hard drive. I saw there was a crash and...here I am."

As he spoke, Charlotte sank in her seat like the Wicked Witch of the West melting into a puddle. For reasons she couldn't explain...or maybe could, she felt two inches tall and her cheeks blazed with color. "Why?" she asked earnestly. "After what I did?"

Jonathan took a deep breath. "I might not be your employee anymore, and I might not want to speak to you right now...but I'm still your friend."

A lump of emotion welled in Charlotte's throat and she swallowed it back down. "I couldn't let you fail so I did what needed to be done."

He turned and started to leave, but Charlotte called his name. He stopped and looked at her, his expression guarded. Charlotte sighed and sat up straight. She tried, but couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry for the way I acted," she said. "It was horrible of me a-and you didn't deserve that."

His features softened a little. "The truth is," she continued, "you really are this company's greatest asset. You're my greatest asset." She uttered a harsh, humorless laugh. "I've been running around like a chicken with its head cut off and I-I realized how much you mean to MergeCorp...and how much you mean to me."

Jonathan flicked his eyes uncomfortably to his feet. Charlotte wasn't often forthright with her thoughts and emotions and she figured this was strange and awkward for him. "I shouldn't have said any of those things," she said. "Because none of them are true."

Those words came hard but Charlotte forced them. She was a stubborn woman and prideful too, and admitting she was wrong wasn't easy. Jonathan deserved it, however. "You're a good employee," she said, "and a good friend."

For a moment he was silent, then he looked up at her. "I apologize for getting catty."

"Would you consider coming back to work?" Charlotte asked hopefully. "With a raise, of course."

One corner of his mouth twitched up in a half-smile. "I would," he said. He glanced at his watch. "You'd better get going."

It was almost time.

She got to her feet and came around the desk, the presentation clutched in her hand. "Be confident," Jonathan said, perhaps sensing her apprehension, "smile, and don't let them know you're afraid."

"I'm not -"

Jonathan raised his brow.

"Okay, maybe a little afraid."

He laid a hand on her shoulder. "Don't be. You got this, girl."

His words followed her into the conference room, warming and bracing her like hot soup on a wintery day. Twelve men (none of them seemingly angry) sat at the table, all middle aged or older; bald pates, glasses, and expensive suits abounded. Remembering what Jonathan said, she made sure to keep her head up as she strode to the head of the table. Every eye turned toward her; she liked to think in awe.

She faced the crowd and took a deep breath. "Good morning, gentlemen," she said, poised and collected, "my name is Charlotte Pickles and I know Grady…"

And that was true, she did know Grady. With Jonathan , her friend, valued employee, and greatest asset on her side, she knew everything and could do anything.

Including securing Grady International.

Which is exactly what she did that day.


End file.
